Push
by Lotten
Summary: Even when I have to push just to see how far you’ll go, you won’t stoop down to battle, but you never turn to go.


Yes, yes, I know, I should prioritise coming up with new chaps for my long fics, rather than writing inane fluff. But I can't help it. My mind needs a holiday once again, I suppose.

So, the day after Christmas, three couples, three different relationships. Live with the oddness of the last pairing. I can't help I'm one of the Shippers of Insanity.

Oh, and the quotes come from a song by Sarah McLachlan with the same name as the fic.

* * *

"_But you pick me up and brush me off, and tell me I'm okay_

_Sometimes that's just what we need to make it through the day."_

My love is asleep, his head heavy on the pillow we were supposed to share. It didn't work, sharing, so I rolled off and let him have it. I know I am like that. I give things up to others even when I don't actually have to – I could find him another pillow and keep mine – and I know that it's stupid but it's always so hard not to.

_Pretty pretty-boy_. I smile and lean closer to him, following the perfect line of his jaw with a finger, breathing softly in his face and watching how his fringe flutters slightly. _Beautiful, my sleeping beauty_. Slightly parted lips are calling for me, but I won't fall for it just yet. I want him to wake up first. So I find that sensitive spot behind his ear and once more blow softly. He twitches, mumbling something in his sleep. I kiss him, and then bite him. He rolls around, disappearing into his pillow. I smile fondly. _Adorable and adored_.

I continue the game – tickling him gently, nibbling on the skin at the dip of his throat, sending soft air over sensitive skin and small, almost invisible strands of hair – until his eyelids flutter and open. And then I kiss him. Full on the mouth and with my self, my core streaming out between my lips to fill his body and to cherish it.

"Good morning, Pads."

He chuckles softly and drags himself into sitting position. "You know, I could live with being woken like that every day."

"Pff. Spoiled brat. That is something you have to deserve." I give him a teasing shove and he smiles at me. Without warning, he suddenly places his hands on my shoulders and pushes me backwards, so that I hit the wall behind with a small thump. I look up at him, hovering over me and pushing me down, controlling me, and I have to return his smile. His eyes glitter dangerously down at me.

"And what do I have to do to earn it, Moony?" he wonders softly.

I give him an enigmatic smile and place a finger over my lips, teasing him. "That is for me to know, and for you to find out."

He swats me over the heat, smiling warmly at me. "You utter, utter prat" he mumbles, and I hear the love in his words; I can see it in his face as he watches me, absent-mindedly putting some stray strands of my hair into place. He doesn't need any particular words to make me feel needed, wanted, beloved. All it takes is a quiet inquiry about the Transfiguration homework, or saying my name, or when he prattles on about something completely pointless while he lies on my bed, watching me when I read. Everything he does or says reminds me of those warm, private moments we share; remind me of his kisses, and how he will sometimes swear to do anything for me, anything, just for me and me only, and how he will say my name over and over again even when he has gone beyond being able to articulate anything else. I am reminded of that of all the people in the world, all those people that are handsomer than me, or more intelligent, or more charming, or all three of them at the same time…

He still picked me.

"Knut for your thoughts, lovebunny."

"My thoughts, Sirius Black, are far more expensive than a mere Knut, and I'll have you know that the price increases by the tenfold every time you use that silly nickname." I pull playfully on his soft black fringe, and he laughs. Then he dives over to his own bed, rummages through his trunk and then returns, grinning widely.

"Here!" He opens his hand and engulfs me in a shower of golden Galleons. One bounces off my nose, and I grimace. "Now bring on those thoughts."

I try to shove the money back to him, but he won't have it. "I'm so eager to hear what is going on in that complex and wise mind of yours, Moony" he teases me. "But I warn you" he waggles a finger in my face "it'd better be good. Otherwise I will visit the curse of the Blacks upon you. Nobody tricks a Black unpunished."

I snort. "You keep saying that. Very well: I am thinking that I think that you actually love me."

His eyes widen, and then he smiles, shaking his head. "You figured that out just now? I can't imagine why people call you the smart one of the gang."

"They do?" I laugh, softly. "I very much doubt it, Pads. I doubt very strongly that people even notice that I exist."

He looks so serious then, and he lifts his hands and touch my face, resting them there, as light against my skin as a butterfly's breath. He opens his mouth, looking like he is going to disagree with me, but then closes it again, and he shakes his head with a sly smile. "I sincerely hope so" he says.

"Why?" I ask, surprised.

"Because if just one other person realises what a wonderful person you are, then I cannot come up with one reason to why you should put up with me any more. As long as nobody knows who you are, I can keep you" he kisses me on the mouth. "Even though I don't deserve you."

I feel a lump growing in my throat, and I lean my forehead against his chest so that he won't see me blinking back tears. "You silly thing" I mumble, my voice breaking, and I hope against hope that he'll never find out how little I deserve him.

* * *

"_Every time I look at you the world just melts away_

_All my troubles, all my thoughts, dissolve in your affection."_

I am waiting for her. She is always late. I know it's nothing personal, that's just how she is. Professor McGonagall claims that she holds the school record for arriving late to classes, but she just laughs at that.

"_If I didn't have that one little flaw"_ she said with a sly little grin _"then I would be perfect. And if one person would be allowed to be perfect, what would stop others from being it? And soon the world would be flooded with perfect people. And wouldn't that be boring?"_ And then she laughed, and I laughed with her, telling her that she was just as conceited as Sirius. To which she – of course – replied that contrary to Sirius, she has every reason.

Before, when I was as she put it 'hanging upon her like a disease', I didn't know this about her. I didn't know that she could be conceited and vain. I didn't notice how often she was late to classes. I didn't notice how bitingly mean she can be, nor did I know that she never shares with her friends if she's bought candy, but watches every piece jealously. I _did_ notice how quick she is to anger, since it was mostly me who provoked that anger.

And after I've learned all those things about her that I didn't know before, learned about her caprice and sometimes outright egocentrism, I am somewhat surprised to find that I love her so much more than when I thought she was flawless.

Maybe it is because with all those little flaws, the beautiful parts of her shine so much more bright. And maybe I had to learn about the less pretty parts of her nature to be able to share with her those moments when it is almost like the two of us have become one, those moments of loving and being loved so intensely that there is nothing to the world except her and me. I don't know. I just know that this is the way I feel; that I love her the most when she is Lily the human being, not Lily The Vision of Endless Perfection, the Lily I once saw.

"My my. I think we are nodding off a bit, Mr Lazybones, aren't we?"

I turn around to smile at her, and I barely manage to brace myself before she throws her whole body-weight on me in a brutal cross between embracing and wrestling. I stumble backwards, and then collapse when my heels hit the lower step on the staircase leading up to the Great Hall. With a gleeful shout she tumbles with me, pinning my body against the uncomfortable, jutting edges of the steps.

As we lie there, nose tip to nose tip, she grins widely at me. "Alright there, Potter?"

I groan. "Are you never going to let that go?"

"What, and forfeit my best joke? Dream on, James." She rolls off and gets to her feet, somehow managing to be graceful and adorably clumsy at the same time.

I glare at her as I rise up, although I am sure that my glare lacks conviction. Nonetheless, I grumble mildly, just for the sake of it. "I don't see the funny part of it."

"Yes, I know that" she explains with exaggerated patience. "And that _is_ the funny part of it, see?" She pats my cheek, and I give her a playful swat over the head.

"I don't know why I put up with you."

She smiles. "Oh, but I do. You want me. You need me. You think I am the most beautiful creature to ever have walked this earth. My intelligence dazzles you. I have character, charm and charisma. And I am damn sexy too."

I give her a scrutinising gaze. "You know what" I then say, trying my best to sound like I am actually pondering it "maybe _I_ should've taken my chances with the giant squid?"

And then she kisses me, kisses me in the way that she knows very well will leave me breathless. Her strong arms snake around my neck and pulls me closer, her lips envelop first my mouth, and then my heart, eating it while it is still warm and pulsing.

"Probably not, eh?" she mumbles against my lips, before she kisses me again.

* * *

"_And you have seen me at my weakest but you take me as I am_

_And when I fall you offer me a softer place to land"_

"Merry Christmas."

He stands there with the thin hair falling into his eyes, staring at his own feet, and as always when he is with me, he looks ashamed, and far younger than his fifteen years. I've been told that I look old for my age. It doesn't surprise me.

"That was yesterday, Peter."

"I… I know that. I j-just…"

"I know. I thought I should point it out to you, though."

"You are being c-cruel on purpose." His cheeks colour, blotchily, so that it looks like he's been in a fight.

"Oh, _I_ am being cruel, am I? Can you remember the Christmas gift you gave me?"

"…yes." He actually seems to shrink. I like it. I have such enormous power over him. I can bring up all the shame with just a word and see him stumble under it. So far he's been strong enough, but I do wonder if _one day_…

"That wasn't very pleasant, Peter."

"I didn't… do anything…" His voice is less than a whisper, he knows that he cannot defend himself, but he still tries. It's like seeing someone waving a buttering-knife in front if a warrior in full armour.

"Yes, exactly. You didn't do anything. You never do anything, do you, Peter? You just let things happen, don't you? Isn't that the problem, Peter, or do I remember it wrong? Maybe it isn't even a little your fault. Maybe it's mostly my fault."

And there comes the tears, he cannot stop them. He hides his face behind his hands and he shakes and sobs and crumples from inside out. "W-why…" he mumbles. "Why do y-you always… w-why? I t-try, b-but… And you always say it's okay, and th-then, afterwards, you st-still…"

This is as far as I can push him. If I lash out again, he will run away. Peter always runs away when it becomes too much for him to handle.

So I stand up and walk over to him, gently putting my arms around him, pulling him closer. He whimpers and clings to me, so hard that it feels like he is trying to push his head through my ribcage, like he is trying to plunge into my heart, like he is trying to hide inside me and wrap my skin around him like a blanket, a protection against the world.

"Yes, Peter, I am being cruel on purpose. I'm sorry." I don't tell him why, but the knowledge burns in me: _I will torture him like this every time, and then maybe guilt will make sure that he stays with me, that he doesn't leave me behind. Or maybe he will break, will not be able to live with the strain. If that happens, at least I can blame him for everything, and maybe I can walk away…_

He has lifted his face and looks at me. His eyes always make me think that he's cried so much that he has washed most of the colour away. He isn't beautiful, but neither am I, and it means less than nothing when we are all alone.

"You hurt me so" he says.

"You hurt me."

He nods, cannot deny it. "I'm sorry too. I am." He chokes down yet another sob, keeps his jaws clenched over it. But I bend my neck and open his lips with mine, letting the sob out. I close my eyes as I kiss him, and I know he does the same, and it's very simple and something everyone does, and because of that, it is amazing that we do it. It's amazing that we both can have this faith in each other, after all we've said and done to one another, after all the times we've torn each other apart and pretended that we don't care afterwards. After we've pretended to be cold, we can still melt into each other and be better than that, be better than what we really are, above ourselves. Beyond ourselves.

So I end the kiss, because sometimes words are important, and even if I cannot tell him what I am thinking, I can do this much: "I love you, Peter."

"I love you too, Severus."

And that is all there is to really know.

"_Even __when I have to push just to see how far you'll go_

_you won't stoop down to battle, but you never turn to go."_

**FIN **


End file.
